


Wild Ride

by shaynanigans17



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Walking Dead Fusion, if you're wondering, yes corey is meant to be the version of aden in fear the walking dead au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:53:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6242005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaynanigans17/pseuds/shaynanigans17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That time Elyza Lex had to fight a hoard of mouth-breathers (as she likes to call them) for her leather jacket, and she meets a really cool kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild Ride

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! I saw a lot of headcanons involving Elyza defeating a bunch of Walkers over her jacket and just thought it'd be cool to have a fic (one of many, I'm sure) about it lol Hope you enjoy it, let me know how I did! Also, my tumblr is: amy-raudenfeldd.tumblr.com just in case you wanted to know!

You hate that in this crumbling world, people still think being by yourself is the surest way to die. You'd been by yourself for weeks or you're assuming it's been weeks. Time seemed like such an irrelevant concept when people were becoming these lifeless things because of some stupid virus spreading around.

You argued mentally (because it was a waste of breath to argue with the trembling groups of the fearful) that you'd been alone your entire life. A stupid family trip to America had somehow ended with you lost in a foster system that was corrupted, ridiculous, and culturally unaware. In a way, you were thankful for this virus outbreak. Was there a god of sickness you could raise your pistol to in thanks? Six families and the only time you could consider yourself at home was now, in an abandoned house.

It was quiet for the most part devoid of the occasional groaning and shuffles of the tainted, who you were mentally deeming as mouth-breathers. You wished they had half a brain more to just close their mouths and shut up because those unaffected would like sleep at some point in the day, but that was clearly asking too much.

Your eyes were finally closing, sleep getting stronger as you started to relax, but the sudden banging of the front door had you sitting up. The sound was too fast to come from a mouth-breather, the door knob turning but stopping thanks to the lock. Your grip tightened on the pistol (you learned quick enough to keep your weapon handy at all times), making your way to the door, hearing the panicking whimpering of "please, please." See, being by yourself wasn't going to get you killed, it was your inherent nature to protect those who couldn't. Unlocking the door, pistol raised, you yanked the door open, watching as the knocker fell forward at your feet. It was a kid, maybe twelve, shaking and crying with blood covered hands.

You put your weapon in its holster, picking the kid up easily enough, slung him over your shoulder as you shut the door fast. "Shit." The curse nearly slipped from your mouth again when your brain computed again how old the kid probably was. "Shoot.. I mean." You shook your head, rushing the kid to the kitchen, sitting him on the counter, turning the faucet on. "You alright? Kid? C'mon, you gotta talk to me. Where are your parents?" 

The young boy held his head high despite the blood and the tremor that seemed permanent in his nerves. "C-corey."

You gave him an odd look, hand hovering over his arm with a wet towel.

"That's my name?.. you don't have to call me kid."

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, smirking a little because you knew you'd have reacted the same way. You continued cleaning him off the best you could, rinsing the rag out every few minutes. "Right. Corey. Let's try that again. Are you alright? What exactly happened?" One arm cleaned, no concerning scratches or bites yet.

Corey focused his gaze on your handiwork, shrugging a shoulder. "I was out scouting.. you know, for food and stuff. Came across a group of creepers-"

Your snort at his version of the mouth-breather's name was rewarded with a glare, which you mouthed an apology for.

"They didn't see me, but they were feeding. So I took a better look and uh.." Tears filled his eyes though you noticed he was fighting to stop them from actually falling. "It was a friend of mine. We're part of this group, and he must've strayed. I uh I tried helping him and-" He let out a soft hiccup, covering his mouth, eyes shut, tears falling freely down his cheek. "there were too many of 'em."

Your jaw was clenched as you nodded, letting him get out his feelings. You were done cleaning him up, bandaged a small cut on his hand after sanitizing it, gave it a gentle pat. The kid was strong, the tears only proof of his compassion and not weakness. "Don't worry, kid. I'll get you back to your grou-"

Another sudden thud at the door, slower but just as loud, like someone was mindlessly running into it. "Damn it." Could you not have a minute of peace, really? Another pat to Corey's knee, "C'mon. We have to go." 

You rushed into the living room, grabbing everything, shotgun slung over your shoulder, your backpack full of ammo before taking the kid by his arm and ushering him out the backdoor. It should've crossed your mind, the mouth-breathers could smell blood really well and the kid had been covered in it. The two of you barely got out when the front door snapped under the mouth-breathers weight.

Had you met Corey at a more peaceful time in both of your lives, you would've been impressed. He had been crying only a moment ago, but he was now in survival mode. Eyebrows furrowed, little legs pumping as he kept up with you, reacting to turns and mini obstacles seconds after you did. If by the worst luck, you couldn't find his group, he'd be a great asset to have alongside you. You went to reach inside your jacket pocket to hand him one of the knives you kept in there, but your hand met nothing but tank top. "What the fu-?" You forgot your jacket. "Fuck, I've gotta go back."

Corey turned around, slowing down, shaking his head. "What for? Those creepers are going to get you."

"I forgot my jacket. I have to go back."

"You're going to run into a creeper-infested house for... a jacket. Really?"

You shrugged, unsheathing the knife at your ankle, shoving it into his hands. "It's special. I'll explain when I get back. Just hold my stuff, find a nice space to hide out for a bit. I'll be back before you know it." You handed over the rest of your gear, keeping the shotgun over your back, the pistol on your waist and a knife.

Corey nodded, still confused about your personal mission. As you turned to leave, he grabbed your elbow. "Your name. You didn't.. You didn't tell me your name."

Your lips quirked up into that lopsided grin of yours, "Elyza. Elyza Lex."

Before he could say anything else to try and stop you, you left him, heading back towards the house. You could go about this two ways. Barge in through the back door, firing shots, but you had learned sound attracted the mouth-breathers. You'd have to go about this quietly, use the guns differently, rely on your knife.

You took a deep breath, the moans and disgusting sound of slurping making you grimace. Your knife rested in your left hand before sprinting through the back door. The first one was easy, grab its shirt, tug it close, blade through the forehead. The second and third fell the same way, but the commotion was re-focusing the others' attention to you. "Fuck.."

As you reached for the next kill, you felt grubby hands grab your shoulders, nearly making you gag at the weird pruney feel of dying skin. You slammed your head backwards, knocking it back, swinging your leg back to kick it in the stomach. Another stab, the one in front of you crumpled to the ground, and okay, you might've underestimated just how many there were.

Slinging the shotgun around, you fired once, grinning at that satisfying boom and brain splattering the walls. Five points. You aimed again, managing to get two with the next shot. Ten points. The one behind you stumbled, rushing forward to you just as you turned around, smacked it in the face with the butt of the gun, driving it to the wall nearest both of you. A couple more smacks, driving the gun into its head until the skin split, skull shattered and blood oozed out. "Twenty more points for being creative as fuck."

Finally, you spotted your jacket, lying right where you had left it on the couch. You ran into the dining room, hopping onto the table, kicking another mouth-breather in the face, jumping down and snagging the jacket. There were still a handful more, confused at the noise, bumping into each other like idiots. You could get them all if you really wanted to, you had enough ammo, but the idea of leaving Corey out there by himself worried you more.

Your mind on the kid, you attempt to jump on the back of the couch but you slipped, falling backward, crashing into the glass coffee table. You cried out in pain, feeling shards of glass cut into your exposed shoulder. "So much for looking cool..." You start to get up but the closest mouth-breather must smell fresh blood because it's on you, pure dead weight on your chest, your hands gripping what shirt material is still there, keeping it an alarmingly close distance from just biting into your jugular. "Okay, so next time I run into an infested place, it's not the place to try to do those badass escape moves you read in comics. I get it. So can you get off me?" You grunted, trying to shove the mouth-breather off, but its friends were following and god, if you didn't figure some shit out soon, you were going to be a mouth-breather feast.

Through gritted teeth, still trying to shove off the increasing weight. "Second bad idea of the day. Leaving the kid with all of my shit..." Maneuvering your arm so it pressed up against the mouth-breather's throat, your jacket now gripped tightly between your teeth, you reach down, scrambling to get your pistol, drawing it out and shooting the thing in the head. Two more bullets and the threat of becoming a kebab for the infected lessened. The weight of three mouth-breathers was too much to push off, but you squirmed and wiggled until most of your body was out from underneath them.

Finally free, covered in guts and glass, you shove the other shuffling around out of your way, making a break back through the back door, ignoring the twinge in your ankle or the stabbing sensations in your back, making it to the road where you dropped the kid off. You slowed down, limping but finding the time to shrug on the beaten leather jacket you'd been keeping safe with your teeth. You'd have to get the glass out later when you weren't so vulnerable and you knew the kid was safe.

Thankfully, Corey came running out of the nearby house, your backpack on his back, knife still in his hand. "Elyza!" Stopping in front of you, he got a good look, scrunching his nose up. "You look and smell like crap."

You chuckled, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, using him as a temporary support system, reaching up to ruffle his hair. "Thanks, kid." As you two start in the direction Corey pointed out was where his group, the Nightbloods ("You get fifty points for having a cool as fuck name") had last been, tugged at your jacket. "Bright side to smelling like rotting guts, I got my jacket back."


End file.
